Story | Incest

Arthur’s knife scraped against the china—a sharp, violent sound. He finally looked up, his eyes like flint. "Julian was a ghost, Claire. And ghosts don't have a seat at this table."

"I’m not here for the business," Claire said, her voice steady. "I’m here for the truth. I found Mom’s letters, Dad. The ones from 1994. The ones addressed to Julian." Incest Story

The dinner table at the Sterling estate didn’t seat people; it seated grudges. And ghosts don't have a seat at this table

Arthur Sterling, the patriarch whose name was etched onto half the skyscrapers in the city, sat at the head. To his right was Elias, the eldest son and heir apparent, who wore his father’s expectations like a suffocating wool coat. To his left was Claire, the daughter who had returned home after a five-year silence, carrying a secret that hummed beneath her skin. The ones from 1994

"The merger is finalized," Arthur said, not looking up from his steak. "Elias, you’ll be lead counsel. It’s time you earned the office."